The Hidden

“Oh, Diego, I didn’t mean to ruin your life. I was just so scared when the cops brought me in that I didn’t know what to do except call you.”


“You hardly ruined my life, it’s an elite unit. And I was already on the verge of joining—this just helped me make the decision. I wasn’t sure about leaving Miami, but I figured what the hell, I’m not tied down in any way anymore, so it doesn’t really matter where I’m assigned so long as I like what I’m doing.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes or he would be bound to read her relief at hearing he wasn’t seeing anyone seriously enough to want to stick around, so she just stared at her cup. All she said was, “But you love Miami.”

“No, Scarlet, I’m not in love with a place. Love is something you reserve for people.”

He rose, heading toward the living room. She flinched inwardly, then stood a moment later and followed him.

When she caught up to him, he was examining the statue of Nathan Kendall.

“Heavy, isn’t it? Whoever carved this did an amazing job. The artist caught real character in his face. He looks like a man who’s been through hell but come out with his soul intact,” Diego said.

“It’s a good likeness. I’m hoping to find out who the artist was.” She looked hard at the mannequin herself.

It was wood, just painted wood carved into the likeness of a man and dressed in period clothing.

It suddenly occurred to her that someone could steal those clothes and wear them, and she shuddered.

“Okay, I don’t want to scare you, because in the end this may have nothing to do with the ranch, but tell me about the people here,” Diego said.

“Well, you met Ben and Trisha.”

“The only other people who, as far as you know, have keys to the museum.”

“I can’t believe either of them would do this. I’ve actually known them for years. I met them right after college, when I was working at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Before I knew you, in fact. I trust them completely.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t. It’s easy to get hold of a key and copy it. Who else works here?”

“Angus Fillmore runs the stable. You’d know him if you saw him. Old guy, looks like something out of an old Western movie.”

“I think I saw him,” Diego said. “Who else?”

“The head housekeeper, Linda Reagan. She’s around thirty, I think, and beyond competent. She hires seasonal help when the place is busy, the rest of the time—like now—she and Ben and Trisha handle the cleanup and the meals. Ben and Trisha have a private suite on the second floor, and Linda has a small apartment in the attic. Angus lives over the stables. He leads most of the trail rides, though Ben loves to take out the late-afternoon ride himself, and there are a few locals who help out as needed.”

“Guests here last night?” Diego asked.

“A flock who fled immediately, though not before the police talked to them. There are five who stayed. Terry Ballantree’s a young guy, here on his own. He’s excited because he’s a descendant of Nathan Kendall, just like Ben and me. There are also two couples still here. Charles and Gwen Barton are newlyweds from Mississippi, and Gigi and Clark Levin are from Texas. They’re retirees, and they come for two months at the end of summer, beginning of fall, every year.”

Diego nodded. “I’d like to meet all of them.” He paused, studying her. “What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“There’s something you haven’t told me yet,” he said. “I know you.”

She shook her head, lowering her eyes. “There is one thing, but I can’t see how it means anything. There was a strange guy who stopped me when I was in town and told me to be careful, that I was one of ‘them’ and also one of ‘us.’”

“What did he look like?”

“Maybe thirty-five. Dressed like a cowboy.”